


Shifting the Paradigim

by Karieauthoress (ksrandomme), ksrandomme



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1926549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksrandomme/pseuds/Karieauthoress, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksrandomme/pseuds/ksrandomme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John experiment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shifting the Paradigim

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Bumpkin_is for her assistance in writing this. Any and all mistakes beyond are mine.

John had been home for approximately an hour, had taken his tea to his chair and was reading the daily news, when Sherlock marched into the sitting room from downstairs. The door slammed shut behind him and Sherlock marched over the sofa and flopped down on it. John glanced up from his paper and apparently noted Sherlock’s vacant stare to the ceiling and his pale cheeks which more than likely looked far deeper than he liked. Silence reigned in the flat for all of five minutes before John chanced to break it with actual conversation.

“Hard day doing ‘The Work’?” John asked. Sherlock said nothing, simply leaned against the back of the sofa. John shrugged and went back to his paper. He managed to reach the back page before Sherlock made another sound.

“How do you do it?” Sherlock spoke slowly and deliberately, weighing and measuring each word before releasing them, almost as if it were a chore to speak.

“Do what?” asked John. He took a sip of his tea and waited. Sherlock waved a hand absently before speaking.

“How do you act so relaxed and calm in the face of such…tediousness?” The last word dripped in sarcasm and Sherlock stared up at the ceiling as if it held better answers for him than John could.

John glanced over at Sherlock again. “Well if I knew to which tediousness you were referring I could answer appropriately.”

Sherlock stared him in the eyes. “Sex,” he bit out, waiting for some reaction from John.

John chose his words carefully. “I happen to enjoy the feelings it evokes in me.”

Sherlock fell silent as he processed this. It was a simple enough answer to a far more complex question but that was the way John normally thought. Simple and small compared to Sherlock’s complications. He wondered if John just didn’t understand what he was really asking. “Oh, is that why you go to all the trouble to find girlfriends and have sex with them? “

John’s face flushed at the frank way in which Sherlock had asked this. He ruffled his paper and brought it up to cover his face in an attempt to look as if he were really reading it. Sherlock watched John for a moment before realizing that he may have overstepped the boundaries a bit. Sliding from the sofa, Sherlock crept over to kneel in front of John and look up at him. John probably noticed the instant silence because he moved the paper a fraction, realized that Sherlock was not in his previous seat and looked down suddenly when he caught sight of Sherlock’s hair.

“Honestly, Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing down there?” He set the paper to the side to stare down at his flat-mate. Sherlock gazed back up at him.

“I perceive that I may have said something a… ‘bit not good’?”

The phrase was a signal between Sherlock and John. One where John told Sherlock that he had cocked it up again and an apology may or may not be in order. John straightened the paper he held and folded before laying it on the table next to his cup. He next picked up the cup of tea and took a sip of it, all the while Sherlock remained on his knees in front of him. Finally he returned his attention to Sherlock.

“I find girlfriends to have something in my life that is normal for a healthy bloke like myself.”

Sherlock says nothing for a moment before asking, “And the sex?”

John dropped his gaze for a moment before returning it to Sherlock’s. ”Besides the companionship and intimacy, there is the fact that it's extremely pleasurable."

Sherlock frowned at this answer. Intimacy was not something he understood. It tended to be messy and conflicting and, to his mind, frankly quite boring. And pleasure was entirely unnecessary to search for. Sherlock found all of his pleasure in solving crimes and mysteries, creating experiments for the sake of information.

His mind spun. Beyond spun, it raced and he felt the need to move. He smoothly surged to his feet and began to pace as he let his body be an outlet for the turmoil in his mind. John, simple yet complicated John. He seemed to have it so easy. Drop down to the pub for a pint and a game, wink at some useless twit of a girl and then it’s off to her place for touching and intimacy and… sex.

Casual sex.

Mind numbing, callous, needy sex.

And then there were the feelings that got involved in sex. Love, companionship, desire, heartbreak. It was all so useless.

Something that John found so easy to live with was something that Sherlock found rather fleeting. He understood love. His parents loved him. His brother, well one could say that his constant meddling was love in its own way. And John, John loved him. Didn’t he?

He had lost count the number of times he had circled the room, his head spinning, his thoughts going round and round. On his last pass he paced very close to where John was sitting, so close that John reached out and took hold of his wrist lightly, pulling Sherlock to a stop. He stared down at the hand circling his wrist. A doctor’s hand, a surgeon’s hand. A soldier’s hand. The hand of one who liked him (loved him?). A hand that was attached to the man who looked very worried that Sherlock might have just lost his mind.

“Sherlock, what’s wrong? Did I say something to upset you?” John’s face, his eyes, stared up at Sherlock and seemed to ask a hundred questions at once. Sherlock swayed under the onslaught wave of feelings that John’s touch had elicited in him.

John always touched him, had touched him from the beginning. It was a very John thing to do. And Sherlock remembered not too long ago when he didn’t like being touched in any sort of manner, but John’s touch was different. It was special, warm, caring, and desired. Sherlock wanted to have John’s hand there, holding his wrist, touching his arm, reaching up to his shoulder as he stood up next to Sherlock. His hand slid up to Sherlock’s shoulder, his neck and finally his cheek as John gently called his name.

“Sherlock, what’s wrong? Tell me what’s the matter? How can I help, Sherlock?”

Sherlock reached his hands up to cradle John’s face and gently leaned down to kiss his soft, firm lips. John didn’t pull away, yet neither did he push forward into the embrace. Instead he held very still and Sherlock reluctantly released him while he took a step back. He stared into John’s eyes, trying to read him, understand him, deduce him.

John looked a little stunned. “Oh.” He said softly. Sherlock began to feel a flush of blood run to his cheeks. He had gotten it wrong again. John met his gaze and continued softly, “Sherlock I’m not gay.”

Sherlock nodded once. Of course, John wasn’t gay. But then neither was Sherlock gay, or exactly straight for that matter. Really he didn’t know exactly what he was, and felt he should explain this to John. “Well I’m not exactly sure what I am.” He took another step back and shoved his fingers into his hair, wrenching it roughly in an attempt to control his torturous thoughts. He began to pace again, this time into the kitchen and then back to the sitting room, making a roundabout of the kitchen table before coming back towards the sofa.

John let him pace this time, not reaching out to stop his flat-mate but keeping a watchful eye on him all the same. After the third trip round the table, John spoke up and asked, “Have you researched it? Surely it was something you concerned yourself with when you were younger?”

Sherlock paused and walked over to John’s laptop, typed a few words into the search engine and brought up a website. He waved a hand towards the computer and John slipped into his chair in order to read. Sherlock returned to his pacing and waited to hear what John thought about what he read. After what felt like hours, but was most likely only a few minutes, John turned in his seat and looked at Sherlock with a perplexed gaze. Sherlock stopped and stood waiting in the middle of the room.

John stood up before Sherlock with a questioning gaze. “You are Asexual… That makes sense, in a way. So then what was that a few minutes ago? What was the kiss about, Sherlock?”

Sherlock shrugged. “How long have we known each other, John?”

John glanced down at his shoes as he thought, finally coming up with an answer and looking back to Sherlock. “About 4 years now, why?”

Sherlock shrugged again and turned around to walk back to his bedroom. If John couldn’t figure it out then maybe he didn’t feel the same way that Sherlock did. If that were the case then they could just leave it all right there and say nothing more. But it seemed John didn’t want to stop this here as he reached out and grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and spun him around to face him once again.

“Sorry Sherlock, I can’t let you walk away from this. That kiss was important enough for you to share with me and I want to understand!” John bulled his way up to Sherlock, pressing him against the wall under the coat hooks and planting hands on either side of his shoulders, effectively pinning him to keep him from getting away.

Except that Sherlock didn't even try to get away, instead his dark unfathomable eyes locked with John's changeable ones and said, "There is a spectrum, shades of gray if you will, to asexuality. I didn't realize I wasn't anything other than Hyposexual, no one had ever tried to stay and make a go of being close to me before. Only Mycroft and he understandably doesn’t count.”

John chuckled lightly and Sherlock gave him that favorite smirk that always had John smiling for hours afterwards. John stepped back to give Sherlock some room and Sherlock shivered at the loss of heat that John had been sharing with him. He hoped that John didn’t notice but from the strange glint in his eyes, Sherlock figured he had failed on that count. John took one of Sherlock’s hands in his own and drew him back to the sofa to sit with him. Sherlock didn’t argue, settling in close to John and just… existing with him.

After some time in silence, John cleared his throat. “Erm, so, what part of Asexuals *do* you identify with?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and relaxed into the sofa, still holding John’s hand. “I suppose they would say that I am more demisexual now, having spent so much time with you, becoming close to you, emotionally invested in you and all that.”

He felt John relax beside him, sinking into the sofa cushions and wrapping his other hand around Sherlock’s arm. “So you believe we have a connection that should take us to another level of our relationship?”

Sherlock opened his eyes and glanced over at John. “I don’t know. I only know that right now, this thing we are doing here? I have to tell you, John that I am very… aroused being next to you.”

John blinked and then it seemed he couldn't help himself and he looked. Cue the blush as he didn’t miss that ‘Yep, Sherlock's trousers were rather strained and uncomfortable looking’. Of course he wasn’t going to draw too much attention to John’s little peek because he didn’t want to scare John away. John moved his gaze back to Sherlock’s and swallowed briefly. “Oh.”

Sherlock nodded, “Oh indeed.” He sat up a bit straighter and made as if to move away from John, but John seemed unwilling to release his arm and hand yet. He frowned a bit. “John, I think it would be better if we—.”

“Shut up.” John ordered. Sherlock shuddered slightly at the commanding tone in John’s voice. “Stay right here.”

Sherlock settled again in his place and waited for John to make any move he wanted. He only hoped it included him. John leaned over and laid his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, breathing slowly as if he was afraid if he breathed too hard or too fast that he would fly apart just sitting there. Sherlock waited patiently for as long as he could. Finally John sat up, released Sherlock’s arm and stood all the way up. He glanced around the room for a moment, and then went back to sitting at his laptop. Sherlock waited where he had been told to, silently as asked and wondered just what his friend was thinking right now.

“Sherlock, would you mind playing something?” John asked, waving a hand towards the violin sitting in its case. Sherlock remained in his seat for a few moments more, confusion roaring through his head. John took no notice as he had already returned to his laptop and was reading. Sherlock realized, then, that John was doing more research. Sherlock had to remind himself that John was not gay. He had dated many women before he took up residence with Sherlock, and one kiss wasn’t going to instantly change him into something different.

Sherlock sighed, stood up and walked over to the violin. Picking it up and tuning it quietly, he set bow to strings and began to play. It wasn’t anything that John would recognize, but it was similar to other pieces Sherlock had played before when John was reading research so Sherlock believed that it would be most welcome now. He glanced over at John from time to time as he played and noted when John looked up and smiled towards him. Sherlock smiled back and continued to play late into the night. It was… comforting.

o-O-o

The next morning John left early although he didn’t have a shift at the clinic. He did feel the need for research. And so after several hours and four different places John returned to Baker Street armed with what he hoped was enough information to come to a decision.

Last night John had read as much on the internet as he could find that looked credible. Sherlock had dropped a bomb in his lap but John was nothing if not resourceful and determined. Sherlock was his best friend, sometimes his only friend. And John wanted to care for him the rest of his life. That much he knew as a certainty.

He’d already been caring for Sherlock in all the little ways he could since they had first met. He often made sure that Sherlock ate, slept and worked efficiently while remembering the social decorum’s that were needed in day to day life. In short, he helped Sherlock function as a human being, something that he was never very sure that Sherlock really appreciated.

For instance, before John left for the day, he had checked the fridge and noted that there was milk and Sherlock’s favorite jam. He made sure that the sitting room was tidy and that the kettle was filled with water for tea. He then had left a note on Sherlock’s microscope which admonished him to eat something. He only hoped now that Sherlock had taken his advice.

The seventeen steps up to their sitting room were taken lightly because he was in a good mood. He shucked off his coat as he stepped into the room, straightened it and then hung it on its usual peg and then closed the door before turning to the kitchen to find Sherlock; in his blue dressing gown, blue pin stripped pyjama bottoms and grey t-shirt, coming from the kitchen with a plate of toast and a freshly made cuppa. John smiled in his direction.

“Good, you’re eating something.” He said. Sherlock looked at the toast on his plate and the cup of tea he had just made and rolled his eyes before answering.

“Yes, you told me to eat and I decided it was a good idea for now.” Sherlock continued into the sitting room with his plate and cup and sat in the middle of the sofa. John smiled faintly before going to make his own cup of tea, but he couldn’t help feeling as if he were being stared at.

Turning back to Sherlock he found himself under the laser sharp gaze of the detective’s cold steel grey eyes and knew he was being deduced. He shook it off and finished his tea before stepping back into the sitting room and into his chair. He took a few sips of his tea, watching Sherlock out of the corner of his eye as the other man slowly bit into his toast and chewed thoughtfully. Finally after he had finished the toast and set his cup down on the coffee table, Sherlock leaned back with his hands forming a steeple before his face.

John watched with amusement as the man struggled not to say anything when he knew damned well that he wanted nothing but to launch into a long oration of John’s morning travels and stops. Finally he decided to give in and let the man do what he did best. Setting down his cup, he turned to face Sherlock, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. With a hint of a smile he threw out the challenge to Sherlock, “Care to try and deduce what I have been up to this morning?"

Sherlock tried to look affronted, "Hardly a worthy challenge to a man of my skills, but if you insist.”

John pretended to ignore the fact that Sherlock had fairly jumped at the chance to use his skills. In fact he thought it was great fun to challenge the other man to see how well his movements of the morning could be tracked at a glance. And Sherlock had obviously been paying a lot of attention to John since the moment he had walked into the flat. That being said, Sherlock apparently decided to start from the top.

“Your first stop was to visit Harry. How is she, by the way? And when did she take up cooking?”

John smiled warmly. That had been his most important stop. He'd never really talked with Harry about how she'd figured out her sexuality. He didn't realize that it was something that she'd struggled with as early as 12 years of age. Listening to her speak of knowing that she was attracted more to her own sex when discussing celebrities had been her first indication although back then she had mistakenly thought that her being attracted to the female pop stars/whatnot was just wanting to emulate them, it was only when she didn't notice the boys her peers found attractive …

John understood his sister more in that visit than he ever had. But it still only brought up more questions about himself than it answered. But he couldn’t let Sherlock get away with only half of the game. “And how do you know she’s cooking?”

Sherlock waved towards John and elaborated. “You have a coffee stain on your left cuff and there are crumbs of a sort of pastry on your jumper, near your… jeans.”

John tried to hide his grin behind a tea cup. Harry had made a Quiché Lorraine and had brewed fresh coffee. She had taken up the class for two reasons; one to get closer to her wife Clara, and the second was that the concentration needed for cooking made her forget the drink. John thought that anything that made her life better was a good thing. In the end, though, he had to go find more answers and so his next stop was—

“St. Bart’s was your next stop. The antiseptic scent on your jacket tells me that you never took it off so your visit… visits, plural, were brief yet still not what you were looking for.” Sherlock continued as if John’s whole focus should be on him alone. In actuality John was remembering his conversations with some of his colleagues at hospital, mostly of the psychology field. The told him a lot about schizoid personality disorders, Asperger’s, asexuality. But the one thing that they all agreed with was that there was no such diagnosis as sociopathic, high-functioning or otherwise. Hearing all of that caused John to feel both better and worse about his friend. But he chose not to allow himself to be dissuaded from a possible relationship with the man.

“Are those the only places that I’ve been today?” John prodded. By Sherlock’s expression, John knew that he was enjoying this game immensely. Sherlock glanced down at John’s shoes before continuing his deduction.

“Your final stop was to the Uni’s library for a period of research, the smell of must still clings to your coat and there is mud on your boots consistent with walking across the quads on university grounds.”

John grinned widely. “Bang on all three, you are in perfect form today.”

Sherlock smiled ruefully. He always seemed to enjoy John’s praises and today was no exception. He lounged against the back of the sofa with one arm across the back of it and stared at John. John suddenly felt like a butterfly pinned to a display case. “So,” Sherlock drawled carelessly, “What do I win for this little game?”

And just like that John knew the game was on between him and Sherlock. The man wanted a prize and from his eyes John knew that Sherlock felt that prize should be John. But John wasn’t quite ready for that yet so he laughed and shook his head, watching Sherlock’s face go from haughty to bewildered instantly. John finished his laugh and leaned back in his arm chair. “It’s not so easy as all that, Sherlock. There was quite a lot of information to be gleaned on both Asexuality and… well let’s just say that we have some conversations ahead of us later.”

Sherlock didn’t even hide the rolling of his eyes at that but that only made John smile brighter. But John had been dancing around the issue for long enough and he decided it was time to move the game along.

“I propose an experiment.” John began. Sherlock may have managed to look bored, but John could see the excited glint in his storm grey eyes.

“And what would be the Hypothesis of which I will need to prove or disprove?”

John smirked at the formal language that Sherlock had affected, as if he were an esteemed scientist asked to give a lecture at Oxford. On the whole, John felt that Sherlock was enjoying this conversation better than he had hoped.

“The hypothesis is can I be sexually attracted to you?” John delivered this line with as much courage as he could muster sober. Sherlock’s head came up instantly and his piercing gaze locked with John’s. John knew what those eyes would find. He was attempting to hold himself as still as possible and not thinking about anything to do with Sherlock and sex. What appeared to be working at the moment was reciting the various bones in the body from largest to smallest. So he was pleased to find that there were no signs of sexual attraction while Sherlock’s eyes roamed up and down his body and into his eyes.

After an indeterminable amount of time Sherlock stood up from the sofa and made his way over to John’s side, kneeling when he reached the armchair and meeting John eye-to-eye. John met his gaze frankly and waited for the man to make a move, any move, as long as he would just do something. Sherlock smiled faintly before he spoke.

“And what are the parameters of the experiment?”

John let his head fall to the side a bit as he thought. Just how far was he willing to take this? When would he call a halt to the proceedings and declare an answer?

“You can touch anywhere above the belt line. And after, say ten minutes, we can call a halt to the proceedings and determine the experiment either a success or a failure.” John relaxed again into the armchair and waited to see what Sherlock would agree with.

“Ten minutes for an experiment is a useless waste of time!” Sherlock groused as he stood and paced back and forth in front of the sofa. John frowned and ducked his head. Maybe this wasn’t going to go so well after all. Just as he was about to say something Sherlock turned back to him and stopped, crouching close to the chair and saying with the fervent intensity that he normally reserved for his 'work', “But I’ll take it on the agreement that clothing above the belt line may be removed, perhaps?”

John was so taken aback by Sherlock’s sudden shift that he had to stop and think a moment before answering. “Well, I suppose that would be… acceptable. Yes, clothing above the belt line may be removed.”

Sherlock sighed and John wondered that he had been holding his breath until now, afraid that John might say no? Sherlock reached out a hand, standing beside John and waiting. John took the hand offered and allowed himself to be dragged out of the chair and made to sit on the sofa. John watched as Sherlock reached over and snagged the Union Jack pillow from the corner of the sofa and put it on the ground at John’s feet, using it as a kneeling cushion. Apparently he expected to be there for a bit. John watched him situate himself on the floor at John’s knees and then look back up at John expectantly. For some odd reason the conversation in Buckingham’s Palace came to mind.

They had been engaged for a case regarding someone that Sherlock would later only call ‘The Woman’ and who Mycroft would never forgive himself for dropping into Sherlock’s lap. John remembered the toss of conversation back and forth until Mycroft revealed that The Woman was a Dominatrix, which had caught Sherlock’s attention. Mycroft had dismissed Sherlock’s interest with, to John’s ear, a throw-away comment.

_“Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.”_

_“Sex doesn’t alarm me.”_

_Mycroft had only smiled snidely back at him before replying, “How would you know?”_

The entire conversation had carried on from there but that one minute of argument between the brothers had stayed with John for a long while afterwards and now Sherlock was settling himself in for an experiment that John was uncertain the man had any knowledge of skill for. “Sherlock, just how much do you know about… sex?”

Sherlock paused, his eyes boring straight into John’s soul, before dropping his gaze to the side and sighing briefly. He dragged his eyes back to John’s before answering. “Being, as you know, uninterested in sex from a young age I decided when I was on my own that I would see what all the fuss was about. I have had sex with exactly two people in my life, one female and one… male.”

John nodded at this. It made sense that Sherlock would test the boundaries of himself to see just how far he was willing to go. And knowing just how much Sherlock often retained in one meeting, only one of each gender would suffice for his experiments. “So you know something about what you are doing?”

Sherlock shrugged, not something he was wont to do unless he didn’t really want to ask a question. “The two individuals were very informative.”

John thought about this for a moment before he came to a conclusion. “You hired prostitutes for your inquires.”

“Professionals with some experience, yes. This was before the drugs and I had plenty of money. I hired the woman on one night and spent an entire evening with her, dinner and dancing and then a hotel room. Three nights later, the man was engaged, although we didn’t go anywhere near the same places as I took the woman.”

John smirked at this. “You hired them for a date. How far did you… get?”

Sherlock looked like he wanted to be sick. “As far as necessary. They put their skills to the test with me and I learned quite a bit.”

John nodded. “Do you still talk to them?”

Sherlock glanced up at John in confusion. “Why, do you want them to come instead of me?”

John laughed outright at this. “No! Sherlock, no. I just figured if they were such founts of information then maybe you kept their numbers so that you could refer to them when you needed more information.”

Sherlock thought about this for a moment. John could almost see the cogs turning under that dark, curly hair. Finally Sherlock stared John in the eyes and smiled just a little. “John your wisdom surprises me sometimes. Yes I do keep contact with them sometimes but I have not had any more evenings with either of them.”

John smiled, “Good. That’s all I wanted to know. You may proceed with you tests.”

Sherlock’s face brightened as he gazed at John, perhaps attempting to find the correct beginning. John took several deep breaths and focused on Sherlock, no longer recounting the names of the bones and no longer fighting Sherlock in an order to retain his faculties. After a moment Sherlock began his campaign by taking John’s face in his hands and pressing a light kiss on John’s lips. John felt the most deeply warm feeling flutter into his stomach and his spine tingled from head to tailbone. The kiss was so gentle and soft that John began to tremble just a bit from the intense feelings it evoked in him. Sherlock eventually ended the kiss and pulled back gently, his hands still holding John’s face and staring him deeply in the eyes.

With a sharp huff, John remembered how to breathe. He blinked eyes that he hadn’t realized until Sherlock had disengaged had actually closed on their first contact. After a moment of silence John pursed his lips and frowned a bit, staring at Sherlock and wondering what he was going to do next. Sherlock continued to gaze into his eyes and whispered between them, “Was that acceptable?”

John’s mind raced with all the exquisite feelings that the kiss had woken in him and he blinked another couple of times before answering. “Perfectly. Shall we continue?”

Sherlock's mouth took on that little curve that only showed up when he was truly happy, “Yes I think we should. Your reactions are most encouraging at the moment.”

John smiled back and then nodded for Sherlock to continue. Sherlock took the acknowledgement for them to proceed and leaned in to kiss John again, this time with a bit more pressure and a slow swipe of tongue to lip, as if asking permission from John to enter his mouth. John took only an instant to make a decision and then he was opening his mouth and flicking out his tongue to greet Sherlock’s and invite him in. Sherlock took the invitation and suddenly John was lost in feelings and sensations and desire as Sherlock probed and caressed every nook and cranny of his mouth. John’s eyes were closed now, he couldn’t look into those stormy eyes anymore and he couldn’t control the sudden urge to moan into Sherlock’s mouth.

And it wasn’t just his mouth that was engaged in this operation, Sherlock also employed his hands, fingers slipping down from his face to slide down his shoulders and hook John’s elbows up, encouraging John to wrap his arms around Sherlock’s neck as he brushed his fingertips down John’s sides. Reaching the hem of John’s jumper, he began to pull up on the wool, slipping it up and breaking the kiss only long enough to pull the clothing over John’s head and freeing him from the heat it was holding to him. John whimpered at the temporary loss and Sherlock moved quickly to close the distance between them again, reinitiating the kiss and lighting John on fire from within.

With his eyes closed the rest of his senses jumped to the fore in order to tell him exactly what Sherlock was doing. After the jumper was discarded Sherlock moved on to the front of John’s button up, slipping each button free deftly and without any serious sense of urgency to undress him. Reaching the final button before the belt line, as their agreement stipulated, Sherlock stopped briefly and pulled the sides of his shirt open, allowing his hands to reach John’s skin.

John jumped at the chill from Sherlock’s fingertips and Sherlock instantly pulled back, breaking the kiss and checking that John was alright by looking him in the eyes again. “Sorry.” He apologized.

John grinned, “Cold hands mean a warm heart, or so they say.”

Sherlock grinned with him before leaning forward and whispering in his ear, "It is no wonder that you are so warm then."

John’s eyes widened as he realized what it was Sherlock was telling him. But then he couldn’t hold them open anymore when Sherlock turned from whispering in his ear to kissing his cheek, then his neck and his shoulder, moving the shirt collar to the side. He had no idea how long they had been at this but something deep inside his hoped it would never stop. He had already decided that when Sherlock pulled away and called a halt to the experiment, John was going to call it a complete success and then they could move on from there.

Suddenly Sherlock pulled back completely and gazed into John’s eyes again. “Ten minutes exactly.”

John gulped a bit of air as he attempted to settle himself again. He quickly took stock of himself and then looked up at Sherlock. “Yes, well.” He swallowed thickly. “That was very interesting.”

Sherlock nodded absently and waited for the verdict. John looked around and took notice of the time before turning his attention back to Sherlock who looked just as frazzled as himself. For a moment they sat together in silence, each unsure if the other was going to speak first. Finally John decided that it would have to be up to him to make the next move. He started by wrapping his arms back around Sherlock’s neck and slid off the sofa onto Sherlock’s thighs, thrusting up until his now very visible hard-on hit Sherlock’s own. Sherlock sucked in a startled breath as John tightened his grip on him. “Well, detective, I do believe that your experiment was a rousing success.”

Sherlock smirked at the double entendre before squeezing John to him and whispering in his ear, “My John.”

John smiled, releasing a soft sigh as he came to rest against Sherlock’s shoulder and whispered back, "Yes, your John and you are my Sherlock."

End

**Author's Note:**

> First Johnlock, please be kind.


End file.
